A Little Push
by LolliNirvana
Summary: Jack Napier was in love with Hannah Dawes when he was sixteen. Now, The Joker has her little sister Rachel to play with.
1. Give Them A Reason

Staring at her, that's all he ever did. A little smile on his face.

He watched her walk down the hallways of the high-school, those clear blue eyes, that lush brown hair, the ruddy cheeks, the long legs. Hannah Dawes. She wasn't the most popular girl, but she was the most beautiful, to him at least. He didn't duck behind trash-cans, he just stood by his locker and took in each of her features, sometimes hoping she would look back, and sometimes fearing that she would look back at him. People knew about him, yeah. Jack Napier, class clown. Everyone knew he loved Hannah, except Hannah herself.

They especially knew about him when he turned sixteen and was assaulted by a madman and kept in a dark basement for a year. When he was found, he had two long slices at the corners of his lips. Nobody could look at him anymore.

Hannah had stared at him, for once, grabbed her little freshman sister's hand and whispered

"That's the boy on the news. He's gross. Isn't that nasty, that he was locked up for a year? Well, I'm like...terrified of him."

The younger girl looked back.

"Hannah, he's right there."

Hannah looked over her shoulder and saw him. Her expression contorted for a second into disgust.  
"Rachel! Let's go, okay?"

Jack had stared, the girl he had loved since seventh grade.

Walking away.

She was disgusted by him.

She was terrified of him.

He would give her a reason.

Walking home in the rain, he contemplated what to do.

Walking into his bathroom, he pulled out the old halloween makeup he used in seventh grade. He generously squeezed the white paste all over his face, slimed the greasy black paint over his eyes, and scraped off the scab on his scar. It started to ooze blood. He grabbed red lipstick, the slimy lipstick combining with the blood, as he drew another demented smile on to go with his real one.

That night, he killed two people.

The blood on his hands excited him, his acts on the front page of the newspaper. He looked nothing like himself with that clown makeup on.

Nobody suspected that it was poor little Jack Napier, class clown.

So, those many years later, his crimes were normal. They happened all the time. They had even given him a name. The Joker. So, one day, crashing a party in hopes of a nice little murder, he saw Hannah.

It wasn't her. It was...Rachel? Her little sister. The rounder face, the longer eyelashes, the fuller lips, the smaller forehead.

"Hello, beautiful." He had said. He meant it. She stared at him like he was scum.

He was, he was. From the gutter, the sewer. Hahh-ha.

Rachel stared at him like Hannah stared at him.

Oh, he would change that look.

He would make her his, his plaything. He would make it so that he could hurt her as much as Hannah hurt him with those words, and she would come running back.

He would drag her down so deep into madness that she couldn't even think to try and regain her sanity.  
She would be his. He had loved Hannah, and that hadn't worked out, now had it?

He could not love again.

But he could control, and he could lust, and most of all, he could lie.

The last was the most important of all.


	2. Hello, Beautiful

Rachel Dawes was sitting on her porch, a cup of black coffee in her hand and an unlit cigarette between her pouty lips, as if she didn't have the energy to light it.

Smoking was a nasty habit, but whenever she got really stressed, she had to smoke a few.

She couldn't go to work that day, she'd fall straight asleep at her desk.

She had been kept up all night by the horrifying acts on the television. Five school-kids were murdered, hung up on the flagpole at their school. People tried to make it seem like it could have been anyone, but it was oh-so-obvious who it was. Those kids couldn't have been more than twelve. Her friend Peggy's daughter was one of them.

When Peggy called her, crying her eyes out, Rachel didn't know what to do.

She couldn't possibly understand the death of a child, of your own child.

The funeral was on Thursday, and she had even told Peggy she couldn't go.

She was afraid of that. Death.

Hell, she'd only been fourteen or fifteen when the Joker started his murders.

The motherfucking Joker.

God, seeing him in person, at that party?

His gruesome painted face, the way he kept tounging his scars.

She couldn't sleep for days.

It wasn't quite insomnia, the doctors said. Whenever something traumatized her, she would be kept awake. Temporary insomnia.  
When she did sleep, she dreamt of only one thing.

The Joker.

These dreams were not always flash-backs and murder fantasies.

She thought of him kissing her, touching her...

stop.

Do. Not. Go. There.

She kept trying to block those stupid fucking thoughts out,

but she couldn't.

They just kept coming back, at the worst moments.

She put the cigarette back in it's box, and poured the coffee into the sink, going inside and flopping down on a lounge chair, curling up and making a feeble attempt to go to sleep. After a long while, she dozed off. Somewhere between sleep and conciousness, she heard the window open quickly, and close shut.

She rolled over, and saw a box of cards.

She grabbed it, and opened.

Instead of the usual deck, she found a note, folded up into a little square.

It took a while to unfold, but once she did she began to read, and the first line made her heart spring up to her throat.

_Hello, Beautiful,_

_Guess who? Well, I decided to write you this little note just to make you aware that I know where you live. _A crude, smiley face with x'es for eyes. _Guess you better be a little more careful undressing in front of windows? Actually, don't be more careful. I don't mind. I've been thinking about you since Harvey's little get-together, and I'm almost positive that you've been thinking about me, too. Since all of this thinking is rather pointless unless there is some doing, I've decided to pay you a visit. Do not try and report this to the authorities, because I think a little talk is a lot easier than a slit throat. If it comes down to that, I might have to do just that._

_I am a man of my word_

_-J_

Rachel reread the note a couple of times over, and calmly walked to the door and locked it.

She couldn't be too careful.

He was, after all, a man of his word.


	3. LOL

**(A/N: I feel so loved! :) THANK YOU for all of the nice reviews. This chapter is really short and kind of blows hard with glitter, but I wanted to update.) **

Rachel couldn't help but be on edge for the rest of the week. She went to work every day, but her performance was shoddy.

"Rachel, you know I love you." Harvey said, sighing. "But you have to work harder! We've never had you in such poor condition!"

"I know, Harvey. I know." Rachel replied, chewing on her thumbnail.

"Stop doing that." Harvey snapped, annoyed. "We have a case tomorrow. Get your act together, Rachel." He said, walking out the door. Rachel bit her lip, cursing him. Yeah, she knew he was just doing that because he loved her. Work, whatever. She loved him, but GOD! He pissed her off sometimes. Her phone buzzed. Text message. She didn't recognize the number. She flipped her phone open and read.

_Is it me or is Harvey a little angry about his sweet little Rachel slacking off at work? I bet he wonders why her work ethic is so off, hm? Stress in the relationship,on the rag. An affair? Oh, we can only hope :-)_

'What the hell...?' Rachel thought, texting back.

_Who is this?_

The reply was almost immediate.

_Apparently leaving notes isn't update enough for you. I never got a text back. This seems to work better! :-)_

Rachel nearly dropped her phone. This...he had her number?

Well, she could just trace the call. As she was about to dial 911, her phone buzzed.

_You know, if you do call the cops I can write my messages on Harvey's dead body. Everyone at his funeral, with ASL stitched into his face? LOL :-) I'm sure you would read those._

A sudden burst of anger went through Rachel. That sick bastard. She flipped open her phone and texted back.

_Dont you dare touch harvey. What the hell do you want from me?_

This text didn't have an immediate reply. It took a couple of seconds.

_Please, It's not Harvey who I want to touch. I don't swing that way, although don't tell Batsy that. He'd be so dissapointed. Didn't I tell you I was going to have a talk with you? That's all I need. It's not all I want, though. xxx-J_

Rachel turned her phone off, and set her head down on her desk.


	4. McDonalds?

Rachel had made her decision.

The Joker was sitting in a leather black swivel chair, tapping his feet on the mahogany desk. He had his knife out, fingering the blade and throwing it gently from hand to hand when he heard something...vibrate?

He held his knife and turned around in the swivel chair, pointing the knife out. He walked over towards to where the vibrating was coming from.

When he saw the phone, he relaxed his arm, putting the knife in his pocket.

He held up "his" phone, with "RACHEL" on the screen.

Peggy wouldn't miss her little daughter's phone, he assumed.

When he read the text message, his eyes widened. Damn, this chick had balls. Not literally, he hoped, giggling at the thought.

_You want to see me so badly? If it will get you to leave me alone then fine. Im at my house, you know where that is obviously._

She had balls, but she was kind of stupid. He could get all of his henchman to come there and beat the shit out of her and proceed to do whatever they wanted with her. She was letting him go in there with her...alone, he assumed.

...Fuck that.

_How bout this beautiful? We do this on my about McDonalds? They're probably the only place in Gotham that treats clowns properly. Plus dead animal flesh. YUM. Go to North 54th and Dodge. It's on the right side of the road. See you there._

When Rachel got the text message, she cursed. Now she didn't know where she was going, and she knew 54th was in the middle of nowhere, but...

_If I go will you leave me alone?_

_Of course. If you want me to. I am a man of my word.  
_

So Rachel dragged her ass out of bed and into the shower. Got out, put her hair back, and slid into simple jeans and a tank-top, exposing the tiniest bit of cleavage. She was simple. No need to dress up for him, he did enough dressing up himself.

Sliding on her shoes, she got into her car, and turned the ignition, typing the address into her GPS.

The car ride was painful. She felt like any second she was going to hit something or have something hit her. She was anxious. Keeping one hand on the wheel, she pulled a cigarette out of her purse and lit it on the car's cigarette lighter. She took a deep drag.

The nicotine in her system didn't help like it normally did.

When the cigarette was down to the filter, the GPS informed her that she had arrived at the address.

Of course, there was a McDonalds. It looked deserted. Parking the car, she walked up to the glass door, about to open it when it promptly shattered, a knife sticking in the wood of the door.

She, of course, was so brave when she squealed loudly and fell to the ground, getting several pieces of glass in her arm.

"Fuck." She said, standing up, wincing at the pain. The Joker prompty sauntered up to the door, and pulled his knife out, having it make a "twanging" sound as it was extracted from the wood.

He looked her up and down, his eyes resting on the cleavage exposed and then to her arms, which had delicious streams of ruby blood running down them.

"Come on, beautiful." He said, opening the door. "Don't like a dramatic entrance?"  
"Fuck you." She said, wiping the blood off her arms.

"Not now, we have to get you cleaned up!" He said, grabbing her hand rather forcefully and pulling her backwards and practically dragging her all the way to the grimy bathroom.

Rachel knew she would never be able to eat McDonalds again.


End file.
